Desperate Times
The Trilogy
By
Nicholas Antinozzi
PUBLISHED BY:
Nicholas Antinozzi
Copyright © 2010 by Nicholas Antinozzi
Edited by Sue McInnis, MS
Cover Design by Steve Peterson
SMASHWORDS EDITION
The characters and events in this book are fictitious. Any similarity to real persons, living or dead is coincidental and not intended by the author.
One
Black Friday. The term originated on Friday, September 24, 1869, when there was a failed attempt to corner the gold market, causing investors to panic and the stock market to plummet. While there have been a handful of Black Fridays since that time, the largest single-day drop in the market occurred on Monday, October 19, 1987. That day the market shed nearly a quarter of its value. Generally it is agreed that Black Friday refers to Tuesday, October 29, 1929, the day investors leapt from their skyscrapers, ushering in the Great Depression.
Those dates were just tune-ups for what was about to come. Call it political correctness or dumb luck; Wall Street would save its greatest tragedy for a Friday.
It was on that Friday morning that Jimmy Logan sprinted from his Chevy pickup across the gravel parking lot toward the long sheet metal building that housed Dahlgren Industries. He’d overslept and was fifteen minutes late for his shift. Over the past year there had been a fifty percent reduction in the workforce, which translated into a fifty percent increase in responsibility. Last week there was a meeting over the importance of attendance with special emphasis about being on time. With that stuck in his mind, Jimmy hit the concrete sidewalk at a dead run, clutching his shirt pocket with his right hand to keep his cigarettes from flying out.
Jimmy paused at the employee entrance and quickly composed himself. At thirty-two, he was still in his prime and in good physical shape, despite the pack-a-day habit. He ran his hands through his hair, took a deep breath and let it out slowly. Jimmy sighed, then opened the door and walked inside the brightly lit building where stout iron machines, painted battleship gray, were already thumping away. Forklifts rumbled, and the overhead crane whined as it slid across the rails with a heavy load. The familiar smell of burnt steel and cutting oil greeted his nostrils. Those sounds and smells never changed.
Jimmy could feel the eyes of his co-workers upon him as he rounded the corner of the shop and headed up the steps to the time clock. He reached for his card in the bottom right slot where he’d parked it for nearly ten years and found the slot empty.
“Jimmy, I need to see you in my office,” beckoned the gravel voice of Ken Dahlgren.
Jimmy closed his eyes for a second and turned to face the owner. Ken Dahlgren nearly filled the door. He was tall and trim, and one look at his hands told you that this man was close to his work. Dahlgren was dressed in his usual business attire—blue jeans, flannel shirt, and a battered pair of steel-toed work boots. His face was grim. Jimmy nodded and followed Ken inside the double doors into the upstairs offices. His heart was in his throat, but he managed a smile and gave a quick wave to Ken’s wife, Patty, who now ran the office by herself. Jimmy had known Patty nearly all his life, and he didn’t like the look in her eyes when she returned the wave.
The fact that Ken was leading him into his private office only made him feel more apprehensive. Jimmy wondered if he should apologize for being late and beat Ken to the punch. Still, he didn’t think that being fifteen minutes late justified a trip into the office. A visit there was usually to discuss a serious problem in the shop, more than likely a mistake on your part. And while Ken never raised his voice, his words carried a lot of weight and could hit you pretty hard. Jimmy racked his brain, wondering if he’d screwed something up. He didn’t think so, but he wasn’t absolutely sure.
Ken’s small office was semi-organized chaos. Two drafting tables held scattered reams of blueprints. The blinds over the window on the far wall were closed. Ken’s laptop computer sat open on his desk. Two mismatched steel chairs sat across from it. “Take a seat, Jimmy,” Ken said, shutting the door before settling in behind the cluttered desk and closing the laptop. “There’s coffee in the pot,” he added, nodding his head to the steel table behind Jimmy. “You might want a cup; this is going to take a while. We’ve got a lot to talk about.”
Jimmy shook his head. Whatever Ken was going to say he wanted it straight up. “What’s going on, Ken,” he asked, trying to keep his voice steady. “Are you letting me go?” He regretted saying that even before the words had left his mouth. He sounded defensive.
Ken looked at Jimmy thoughtfully, and after a brief hesitation he shook his head. “Don’t take this the wrong way,” he said, a flicker of a smile playing at the corners of his lips. “But I only wish it was something as trivial as that. The truth is, Kid, this is it. We’re shuttin’ down.”
Jimmy was rocked back in his chair by the impact of those words.
“Where the hell do I start?” asked Ken, looking troubled. “Listen, your folks were like family to me and Patty. You know that. At their funeral, I made a vow to them that I’d look out for you. You’ve made that pretty easy; you’re a damn good employee. But it’s more than that. We’re friends, right?”
Jimmy nodded and decided that he wanted that cup of coffee after all. He didn’t like where this conversation was headed. Ken knew full well that he didn’t like talking about this subject. The wound was deep, and the scab had never healed. Jimmy’s parents had been killed in a car accident nine years ago. Nine long years, and a day didn’t pass that he didn’t think about them. Jimmy had already been working in the shop at the time when the sleeping truck driver had jumped his rig across the median and crushed the family sedan like an empty beer can. That had been a long time ago, and while Jimmy would never get over the incident, he had learned to cope. He carefully selected the cleanest of the dirty mugs and poured himself a cup from the pot.
“I don’t suppose you caught the news this morning?” Ken asked, sipping his own coffee from a battered steel mug.
“No,” admitted Jimmy, shaking his head as he returned to his chair.
“Have you been paying attention to the economy? Do you know what’s going on out there?”
Jimmy didn’t know if Ken meant out in the shop or if he was referring to out in the world. He thought Ken meant the latter. “Yeah, I know what’s goin’ on. A lot of people are out of work, and now half the town will be on unemployment. We’re in a recession. I get it.”
Ken held up his hands. “Wait a minute. I didn’t mean to put it that way,” he said, raising his eyes to the ceiling as if asking God for a little help. “How can I put this? Listen, Kid, things out there are a whole lot worse than anyone is saying. The shit’s gonna hit the fan today. It’s already happening. The dollar dropped twenty-five percent overnight, and the stock market was down a thousand points five minutes after the opening bell,” Ken then typed a few keys on his computer. After a moment his face darkened. “Make that twenty-five hundred points, and the market has only been open for twenty-six minutes. We’re running out of time.”
While Jimmy understood precious little of the workings of the stock market, but he did understand numbers. These didn’t sound very good at all. “Okay,” he said, setting his cup down. “What the hell does that mean to us?”
“It means that barring a miracle, the wheels are about to come off of this thing. I don’t believe in miracles. I’ve been watching this for a long time now, months, years even. I knew that it was just a matter of time,” Ken’s tone grew more intense with each word he spoke. “Our entire system of government was corrupted, and our economy has been running on smoke and mirrors. Where do you think that bailout money is right now? I’ll tell you—it’s in the bank accounts of those crooked bastards who caused this mess in the first place. We should’ve demanded heads, but like the sheep we’ve become, we trusted our government to do the right thing. They let this happen. No, they made this happen. The fools just kept printing money.”
“All right, all right,” said Jimmy, who stood up and began to pace. “What the hell are we supposed to do about it? Spit it out. What are you telling me?”
“We—and that includes you and Paula—are heading up to the lake place this afternoon. We’ve got to get out of here while we still can. Patty and I prepared for it the best we could. We’ve laid in supplies, I think we have enough to last a year, if it lasts that long.”
“It? What do you mean, it?”
“Unless I’m wrong—and trust me I’m not—the dollar bill will be just about worthless by the end of the day. Everything will shut down, plain and simple. The trucks will quit running, and the shelves in the stores are going to empty before you know it. I just didn’t think it’d happen so fast. There’s a lot of speculation that the government will declare martial law. I believe them. We’ve got to get out of Dodge before that happens. Who knows—they might get a handle on this thing in a few weeks, maybe less, but don’t count on it. The treasury is empty, bankrupt, and it’s time to pay the piper.”
“Holy crap!” said Jimmy, rubbing his face with both hands. He could feel perspiration beading up on his forehead. Anyone else could’ve told him this, and he would’ve told them they were full of shit. Ken Dahlgren was a straight shooter; he’d never share this information with Jimmy unless he absolutely believed it were true. “What are we supposed to do, just walk away from everything? How can I explain this to Paula? ‘Hey, pack your stuff. The economy bit the big one and we’re going up to Ken’s lake home today!’ Right, that’ll float like a lead balloon.”
“I can’t answer that for you, Kid. You’ve got to drill it into her head that this is going be our only shot at getting out. Look, hardly anyone planned for this. Those who didn’t are going to have to do whatever it takes to feed their families. Do you understand what that means? They’re going to want what we have, and we’re going to need to protect ourselves from those people. Tell her that. Tell her whatever she needs to hear, but just make sure she understands that this is no joke.”
“We’ve invited the Putnams and the Donnellys, and that’s it. I know that’s probably not music to your ears, but they’re good men once you get them away from this place. The checks are ready; I paid everyone through five o’clock today. I’m going to cut everyone loose so the rest of the crew can be with their families. I’m also going to tell them what I just told you. They can use that information however they see fit. Unless…you’d like to do me a favor and tell them all for me?”
Jimmy shook his head, smiling for the first time that day. “No, thanks. That’s why you get the big bucks,” he said, wishing this was a bad dream and thinking Ken was right about what he thought of Donnelly and Putnam. Jimmy detested both of the men.
Ken nodded with a smirk and studied his computer screen for a second. “Down thirty-six hundred points,” he mumbled. “We’ve got to get you moving.”
Jimmy watched as Ken opened his bottom desk drawer and quickly produced a bank envelope. He then stood, reached into his pants pocket and dug out a familiar ring with two keys on it. Ken set the key ring on the envelope and pushed it across the desk to Jimmy.
“Those are the keys to the Mack,” Ken said, as if Jimmy didn’t know. The Mack was the company truck used for carting parts to and from their customers and also doubled as a moving van if someone needed it badly enough. “There’s about eight thousand bucks in that envelope. I want you to head over to Saint Cloud and top off the tanks and buy whatever you can get your hands on.”
“I can’t take your money, Ken,” protested Jimmy. “I’ve got a little in the bank.”
“I wasn’t asking you to take it. I’m ordering you to do it. I’d do it myself, but I’ve got a ton of shit to take care of before we hit the road. You’d better stop home first and run this by Paula. We don’t want her watching this unfold on the television alone. She might panic. You’ve got to be quick, and you’ve got to make her believe. I’m going to be blunt; if she won’t go I want you to give her enough cash to get down to her folks’ place. My guess is that she’s going to lean that way. That’s a big mistake. The cities are going to be war zones, and it won’t matter how much her old man owns or what he has in the bank. But that’s their business. Do you follow me? I want you heading up with us.”
Jimmy did follow Ken on that. Paula’s parents lived quite nicely, thanks to their pedigree and a nine-figure trust fund. Paula had been cut from those considerable purse strings when she’d moved in with Jimmy. That’d been nearly two years ago. Ken was also right about Paula; she just might decide to return to her parents. That would be up to her. Things hadn’t been good between the two of them lately, and Jimmy honestly didn’t know what she’d do.
“Get moving,” Ken said, motioning toward the door. “Every minute we waste here that wad of cash is worth a little less. Take care of business, pack your shit and get to my place by three o’clock. I think Patty’s cooking steaks, so come hungry. We’ll eat and hit the highway. Don’t forget to top off the tanks; this might be our last chance to fuel that pig for a long time.”
Jimmy took the envelope and the keys to the truck. He felt he should say something but had no idea what that something was. He nodded to Ken, trying to look confident and up to the task at hand. He certainly didn’t feel up to this. Despite the proof on Ken’s computer of the collapsing stock market, Jimmy didn’t want to believe any of what Ken had told him. He also knew that Ken would never lie to him or even stretch the truth. Ken Dahlgren was his rock, a man he would trust with his life. He reached over the desk, firmly shook Ken’s hand and walked out the door.
Of everything that was racing through Jimmy’s mind as he unlocked the door to the Mack, he dwelled on the other men who would be joining them. Ken didn’t know them like he did. Both of the shift supervisors were masters of illusion in the workplace. Solidly behind Ken and good company men to his face, out on the shop floor it was an entirely different story. They bitterly complained to each other about Ken and his stupid ideas all day long. Jimmy had tried to tell Ken about this on several occasions, but it hadn’t done any good. They’d all been friends for longer than Jimmy had walked the earth. Ken wouldn’t believe a word of it. Jimmy thought that the truth was about to come out about both men. He would be right, beyond his wildest dreams.
Two
Hyperinflation is a term used to describe what happens to prices as a currency rapidly loses its value. Case in point: As recently as thirty years ago, the Zimbabwe dollar was worth roughly 1.25 in United States dollars. By July 22, 2008, that value had decreased to a ratio of 688 billion to one USD.
People said that could never happen here. They were wrong.
Jimmy parked the twenty-six foot truck out on the shoulder of the highway outside the trailer court where he lived. The narrow streets inside Westwind Manufactured Home Community were lined with parked cars, making it not very friendly to large vehicles. It was a little after eight, and the sun was just beginning to burn the condensation off the windows of those cars. It was quickly becoming a warm, humid morning. Hungry robins pulled breakfast from the green grass while two chained terriers outside the nearest trailer yapped at them or anything else that moved. Jimmy gathered his thoughts, rolled up the window and pulled the keys from the ignition.
His double-wide was three blocks inside the sprawling trailer court. He lit up a Camel and began to walk, trying to work things out in his head. He didn’t bother wrestling with the big picture. The only thing on his mind was Paula and how she’d react to what he was about to tell her. He passed the barking terriers, barely noticing them. Paula wouldn’t believe him; he was sure of that. Paula caught her news on the Entertainment Network, and Jimmy doubted if she could even comprehend what was about to happen. He could barely get his own mind around it.
He knew it’d be an easier task if the two of them were getting along. Just last week they’d had an argument, and she’d threatened to move back home with her parents. They didn’t like Jimmy, never had. They’d be elated to take her back. They’d made it abundantly clear that they thought it was beneath their daughter to live in a trailer court. They also blamed Jimmy for Paula’s decision to leave school, which was ridiculous because Jimmy had fought with her over that decision. They still argued over it.
Jimmy continued down the sidewalk and turned the corner on Pinto Street, stepping over an overturned bicycle with training wheels. He could see his place from here and took one last drag from his cigarette before flicking it into a sewer grate. An approaching car passed and someone waved from the passenger seat. Jimmy blindly waved back, oblivious to anyone or anything beyond what was waiting just a few lots away. His stomach was in knots that grew tighter with each step.
“Hey, neighbor,” a familiar voice harkened from an open window.
Jimmy wanted to scream. It was Bill Huggins, and Jimmy knew that if he didn’t keep moving, and fast, he’d be stuck there on the sidewalk for a long time. Bill was a world-class talker and could stretch a simple hello into an hour-long ramble. He was also a crack mechanic, master electrician, and a top-notch plumber, which made him tolerable. He also promptly returned borrowed items. He couldn’t spell to save his life, but his printing was impeccable. Bill was a walking contradiction, if not an intolerable bore.
“Hey, Bill,” answered Jimmy to what was now an empty window. He stretched his legs as far as he could, walking as quickly as possible without actually breaking into a run.
Bill’s door banged open, and before Jimmy could cross the final fifty feet home, the pudgy Huggins had cut him off cleanly. Jimmy gritted his teeth. It wasn’t that he didn’t like Bill; the two had known each other since high school. The trouble was Bill never bothered to ask Jimmy if he’d caught him at a bad time, and he never seemed to give him an opportunity to say so on his own. Bill had that unique ability to speak in a steady stream without ever seeming to take a breath. To Jimmy, it seemed that Bill sat inside all day thinking of things to say to him during moments such as these.
“What’s goin’ on, man?” asked Bill in booming voice. “Why are you walking home?”
Jimmy shook his head with the best fake smile he could muster. “I left my truck at work. What’s up?”
“Oh, I’ve been better,” said Bill, in what Jimmy thought was an incredibly loud voice for this time of morning. He wore new sneakers and a mud-colored sweat suit that looked suspiciously like the one he’d worn the day before. “Yep, I was up all night again; can’t sleep with this damn back. Did I tell you I ran into Tina on Saturday?”
Bill stood between him and his trailer home. From over his shoulder, Jimmy caught the sudden movement of his own living room curtains. Jimmy wondered if Paula had been awake, which would be quite unusual for her. Had Bill’s booming voice waked her up? Jimmy thought so, thinking he’d likely waked up anyone within two hundred feet. Bill continued to talk and Jimmy nodded, barely hearing a word of what he said.
“She wants the Honda. Did I tell you that?”
“Huh?” asked Jimmy, noticing the bits of scrambled egg stuck in Bill’s teeth. “Oh, yep. You did say that. Yep.”
“Really? I don’t remember telling you that.”
Jimmy’s eyes rested on a familiar blue Firebird parked just up the street. There was no mistaking the vintage car that belonged to Skip Manson who’d graduated two years ahead of Jimmy. He didn’t know Skip Manson well, just well enough to know that he didn’t care for him. He had a reputation for being a spoiled thug who did what he wanted, whenever he wanted.
“The damn doctors won’t refill my prescription,” Bill plowed on, hardly pausing for a breath. “I told them that I can’t sleep. They don’t give a crap. I lay awake all night and then I’m tired all day. Have you ever felt like that? I can’t take it anymore. I’m thinking about changing doctors. Speaking of doctors, did I tell you my cousin, the doctor, choked to death on his morning bran muffin? He was two years younger than me.”
You did, thought Jimmy. Bill smelled of body odor, and he obviously hadn’t brushed his teeth or his thinning hair which needed cutting and stood out in twisted clumps. The curtains flickered again, and Jimmy looked back to the gleaming Firebird—the only car on the street without any condensation on the windshield. His heart sank, and he pushed by Bill in midsentence.
“Don’t,” Bill said.
“You son of a bitch,” answered Jimmy without turning his head.
He took five steps and broke into a jog, bounding up the cement steps before grabbing the doorknob. It was locked. From inside the trailer he could hear the sound of running footsteps. He dug into his pockets and pulled out his keys. He fumbled with the ring for a second before finding the right one. He jammed the key into the lock and pushed hard on the door, his heart hammering in his chest. He strode inside, fists clenched, as his worst fears were realized. A smug-looking Skip Manson was sitting at his kitchen table. He wore a leather jacket and was tying the laces of a boot. Paula stood barefooted next to him, clad in her red bathrobe.
“It’s not what it looks like,” Paula said in a voice filled with apprehension.
“Right,” growled Jimmy. “Then what the hell is it?”
“We’re old friends, man,” said Manson, his long brown hair hanging over his eyes as he battled his boot laces. “I was just stopping by to say hello.”
“At eight in the morning?” asked Jimmy.
“Screw you,” said Paula defiantly, tears running down her cheeks.
Jimmy’s head snapped back as if he’d been slapped. “What did you say?”
“She said, screw you!” retorted Manson with a sneer.
There was a huge size difference between Jimmy and the hulking Manson. Jimmy stood five foot ten with his boots on and weighed the same lean one hundred seventy pounds as he had in high school. The confident-looking Manson was a head taller than Jimmy and outweighed him by at least fifty pounds. Jimmy wasn’t going to let this pass. He strode into the kitchen, sizing up the bigger man. Manson stood and leered at Jimmy.
“Please don’t,” pleaded Paula.
Jimmy never hesitated. He went straight at Manson with a right-handed haymaker that landed with a thud on the man’s jaw. Manson, stunned, rubbed his mouth with a large hand, and it came away bloody. His eyes narrowed, and he cocked his fist with an angry growl.
Jimmy was surprised that the punch hadn’t brought Manson down. His next punch was a left jab that caught Skip Manson flush on the nose. Manson countered with a looping right that caught nothing but air. He spun with the whiff, knocking over a chair and nearly lost his balance. Had Manson been more observant, he might’ve noticed the trophy case from Jimmy’s five years of boxing golden gloves. Most of the trophies and ribbons were second and third place, but while Manson had spent his youth drinking beer and breaking laws, Jimmy had been training in the ring and boxing under the name Kid Logan. People still called him that to this day. The fight was no contest.
“Jimmy, stop,” pleaded Paula.
Jimmy barely heard her as he continued to throw his fists into Manson’s face and body. The big man had already given up trying to throw any punches of his own. He covered up his face as he lurched toward the kitchen counter. Blood splattered the tile floor as another chair crashed to the ground beneath the weight of Manson. Paula moved in, grabbing Jimmy by the waist. Bill now stood at the open door and screamed for Jimmy to stop. Jimmy suddenly held his hands up as if Bill were the police.
“I’m done,” said Jimmy with labored breath, turning away from Manson. “I’m done. Get that piece of shit out of here.”
Jimmy never saw the vodka bottle that Manson clubbed him with.
Jimmy woke up flat on his back, lying on the couch. Paula was hovering over him, Bill at her side. He felt like a freight train was roaring through his head. Paula held something cold on the top of his head, and the stench of alcohol hung in the air.
“Stay still. The bleeding’s almost stopped,” said Paula, her eyes swollen and her face as white as a sheet. “I thought he’d killed you.”
“How do you feel?” asked Bill, his face full of concern. “Can I get you something? Vicodin? Percocet? That must hurt like hell.”
“No,” answered Jimmy. “I’ll be all right. Where is he?”
“Gone,” Paula said through gritted teeth. “He’s gone.”
“Wow, that was some show!” said Bill. “You whipped his ass!”
“Shut up, Bill,” growled Paula. “Look, Jimmy, there was nothing going on. I don’t know why he stopped over. Jerk. He bought me a drink once up at the bar. That was it. I never told you about that because I know how jealous you can get. Anyhow, I ran into him at Country Market, and he asked where I lived. All I said was that I lived here with you in the trailer court.”
“Manufactured Home Community,” corrected Bill.
“Shut up, Bill,” repeated Jimmy, wishing Bill would go home, knowing he wouldn’t.
Paula continued. “He must’ve driven around until he saw my car. I don’t know. I really don’t know.”
Jimmy narrowed his eyes and nodded. He wanted to believe her. That still didn’t explain the way Bill had acted outside. He’d forgotten how angry he’d been about that. He turned to Bill and glared at him.
“I don’t know anything, Jimmy,” said Bill. “Anything except the way I felt when I walked in on Tina and Larry. I didn’t want you or anyone else to have to live with the memory of that. All I can say is that’s the first time I saw that car here, it wasn’t here long and it did drive by a couple of times before he parked it.”
Jimmy nodded, accepting what Bill had said. Bill’s days were spent at the window, waiting for Tina to come back to him. Jimmy wanted to accept what Paula had told him. Right now he didn’t have much choice. The pain was subsiding, and he knew the clock was ticking.
Three
Zimbabwe’s inflation rate was estimated to be as high as 79.6 billion percent per month. Those who managed to survive in post Second World War Hungary would consider them lucky. Try to imagine living with an inflation rate of 12.95 quadrillion percent per month.
The thought is unfathomable. The numbers are too large.
“You’ve got to be kidding me,” Paula said. “This is a joke, right?”
After finally getting Bill to go home, Jimmy had changed clothes and made coffee. Paula had straightened up the kitchen, swept up the broken glass and washed the floor. She opened a window and a slight breeze made the curtain billow. She now sat at the table with her arms crossed. Jimmy’s head throbbed. The bleeding had stopped, and he wasn’t going to need stitches. He knew that time was a luxury he couldn’t afford. He had to tell Paula everything. He’d gone over how he’d put this to her, but in the end he’d just blurted it out. She sat there and stared at him with sad, empty eyes, as if he were telling her that he’d just been sold the Brooklyn Bridge. Telling the story himself, he began to have doubts of his own. If those words hadn’t come out of Ken Dahlgren’s mouth, he never would’ve believed them. He had to keep working on her. He emptied a sweetener packet into Paula’s cup and stirred the coffee with a spoon. Handing it to her, he sat next to her at the table.
“Ken thinks things are going to get bad. I agree with him. Do you really want to be here if the government declares martial law? Honey, what are we going to do when there’s nothing on the shelves at the grocery store and no gas at the pumps? We’ve got to get out and get out now.”
Paula sipped at her coffee and lit up a cigarette. She had dressed in jeans and a tee shirt; her long golden hair was pulled back into a ponytail. One look at her and Jimmy knew she hadn’t heard a word he’d said. “So, we just go on vacation with the Dahlgrens?” she asked sarcastically. “What if he’s wrong? Have you even stopped for a moment to think about that? We leave, the world keeps chugging along and what do we come back to? They’ve got money, we don’t. What are we supposed to live on? I am not asking my parents for money, Jimmy, not a dime.”
“Come on, I would never ask you to do that. We’re just getting out of Crown until things get back to normal. Ken has his place stocked, and it’s all ready to go. That isn’t like going on vacation. We’re just being careful, that’s all we’re doing.”
Paula rolled her eyes and took a long pull on her menthol. “Go ahead. I’ll just go back home. I’m sure my parents won’t be running away.”
Those were the words he’d been both dreading and expecting. “You don’t understand,” he said, reaching for Paula’s hand.
Paula jerked it away and stood up, her face suddenly angry. “What don’t I understand, Jimmy? That Ken Dahlgren has cut your hours in half, making us live in the poorhouse for the past six months while he spends buckets of money on his lake place? He doesn’t care that we’re behind on our lot rent and your truck payment! I understand that, Jimmy. I get that!”
“Please lower your voice, Paula. Let’s just talk rationally about this,” said Jimmy, holding his hands up to her. “There’s no need to yell.”
“Don’t tell me what to do! You come blasting in here, practically accuse me of cheating on you, and then you’ve got the guts to ask me if I want to run away? Why, Jimmy, why? Because Ken Dahlgren says we should? What the hell does he know? Does he have a crystal ball to see into the future with? Is Ken going to make our payments for us while we’re gone? Is he? What happens when this is all over? We won’t have a home to come back to. Your credit will be shot, and you won’t have a job. What are we supposed to do then, smart guy?”
Jimmy felt the anger welling up inside of him and fought desperately to control it. Paula stood at the sink, her eyes wet and full of contempt, her arms crossed at her chest. “Just think about it,” he said in a calm voice. He then pulled the envelope from his back pocket, opened it, and began to count out hundred dollar bills onto the table.
“Where did you get that?” Paula spat. “Why didn’t you put that money in the checking account so we could get caught up around here?”
After Jimmy had counted off ten of the hundred-dollar bills, he returned the remaining bills into the envelope and slipped it back into his pocket. “There’s a thousand bucks. Ken gave it to me, to us. If you really want to go stay with your folks, just take it. I suggest you buy food and gas as fast as you can. When the trucks stop running, the stores will be empty and all that cash won’t buy you a pizza.”
“Right,” Paula said scornfully.
“I’m heading over to Saint Cloud; I’ve got some things I have to get over there. I should be home in a couple of hours. Just think about what I said, okay?” He got up from his chair, his eyes locked on hers. “I love you, Paula. I want you to come along with me. We’ll be safe up there. Let’s just give it a week or two. That’s all I’m asking. Think about it?”
“Whatever,” Paula said, turning away from Jimmy as he tried to kiss her.
“I love you,” Jimmy whispered into her ear, kissing her cheek.
“I might not be here when you get back,”
“I hope you are,” answered Jimmy. He then donned a Twins cap from the hook by the door and walked out into the bright sunshine. He pulled his sunglasses from his shirt pocket, watching with dismay as one of the lenses fell to the ground. He tried to straighten the bow and saw that it was a lost cause. He dropped them where he stood and started to walk. He could feel eyes upon him, looked up and saw Bill watching him from his driveway. Bill waved meekly, and Jimmy nodded in his direction. Jimmy lit up a smoke and began to walk back to the Mack, his thoughts jumbled, his hands trembling.
“Care if I ride along?” asked Bill, who was suddenly beside him.
“What?” asked Jimmy, his heart sinking, knowing that Bill must’ve heard everything that had been said.
“To Saint Cloud,” said Bill. “You look like you could use a friend.”
“You heard us, didn’t you?” asked Jimmy, not losing a step.
“It was hard not to.”
“Fine,” said Jimmy. “Not a word of this to anyone, understand me, Bill? You’ve got to keep this under your hat.”
Bill nodded, waddling along as Jimmy stretched his legs. “I understand.”
They walked the three blocks without another word, passing the yapping terriers without so much as a second glance. Bill hopped up into the passenger seat as Jimmy hit the ignition and released the air brakes. The large Caterpillar engine hummed as Jimmy began going through the gears. Soon they were making the left onto Highway 95 and heading toward Saint Cloud.
“She doesn’t want to go?” asked Bill, watching cattle graze in a field outside his window.
“I’m not sure,” said Jimmy. “I guess I’ll find out when we get back. She’s got to think about it. All I could do was ask her. I know it sounds crazy, but I had to ask.”
“It doesn’t sound crazy,” said Bill, turning to face Jimmy. “Not to me. I’ve been watching this thing for a while now, and the bottom’s about to drop out. I’ve tried to warn people, but nobody listens. They’re scared, and they don’t want to know. They don’t want to believe it could happen.”
“You got that right,” agreed Jimmy.
“I’ve read that this is all a conspiracy to create a one-world government. I don’t know if I believe that. Then again, a lot of people are saying that these are the end times. Have you heard any of that?”
Jimmy nodded. He’d heard the dire warnings the extremists were saying on television.
“I don’t know about any of that, but it sure makes you think, doesn’t it?”
Again, Jimmy nodded. He definitely didn’t want to think about that.
They rolled down Highway 95, passing what little traffic there was on this beautiful, early summer morning. They’d talk for a few minutes and then ride in silence for a few more. The radio was set to a classic rock station, playing softly over the rumble of the engine and the whine of the truck tires on asphalt. Before they knew it, it was after ten and they were on the outskirts of Saint Cloud.
“Look at that,” said Bill, pointing out the windshield. “Ten bucks a gallon!”
Jimmy squinted in the bright sunshine. “Are you kidding?”
“That station, there,” said Bill. “Look at the line!”
Jimmy found the sign above the busy gas station and saw that Bill’s eyes hadn’t been playing tricks on him. Cars were lined up to the street, and people were milling around outside the station. Jimmy returned his attention to the road, and after a silent mile he signaled his turn into the jam-packed Town Square Mall parking lot. Many of the shops had been closed for months, and there’d been talk that the mall would be closing its doors soon. The crowd only added to the empty feeling in Jimmy’s stomach.
“Looks like the Christmas shopping season has started early,” said Jimmy, parking the truck in front of an empty flower shop on the far side of the lot.
They got out of the truck and made their way to the mall entrance, doing their best to avoid the cars that buzzed angrily around the large lot. Horns blared in the distance. Jimmy knew they wouldn’t have much time. Leading the way, he walked briskly through the doors of the mall and made straight for the drug store. Bill followed, hands stuffed deep into the pockets of his rumpled sweat suit.
To Jimmy’s relief, he got the last available shopping cart and began to fill it immediately. The prices had doubled on most items, but Jimmy plowed ahead. Toothpaste, shampoo, bar soap, deodorant—he grabbed six or eight items at a time. He felt as if they were in one of those super market contests where you try to spend as much money as you can in as little time possible. Bill would occasionally hold something up, and Jimmy would just nod, knowing they’d likely need it at some point. He grabbed bags of disposable razors, lotions, ointments, bandages, whatever caught his eye. The cart filled up quickly.
“See if you can find another cart,” said Jimmy, pointing to a display of toilet paper. “You can never have enough of that,” he said in a whisper.
“That’s always been my motto,” agreed Bill.
They continued shopping that way, braving the ever-growing throng of ill-tempered shoppers, filling carts and paying much too much for the purchases before returning to the truck and stowing their cargo in the back of the van. Each time out, Jimmy would snap on the padlock and eye the lot suspiciously. After their last stop at the hardware store, the envelope had grown considerably lighter. He flipped through the bills and found he’d spent over six thousand dollars. Checking his watch, he could hardly believe his eyes. It wasn’t even noon yet. As much as he detested shopping, he hated to admit to himself that it’d been fun. He knew Bill had enjoyed himself. Having long gotten past asking Jimmy if he wanted something or not, he’d simply walked the aisles like a big spender and tossed whatever he picked up into the shopping cart.
“That’s it,” said Jimmy, snapping the padlock shut on the back of the truck. “Are you hungry? I’m starved.”
“I could eat,” agreed Bill, rubbing his stomach.
“Here’s a fifty,” said Jimmy, pulling a bill from the front pocket of his jeans. “Run over to that sub shop over there and get whatever you want. Hell, grab two of whatever you want. Just surprise me, no onions. You got that?”
“Sure do,” said Bill. “One onion sub, hold the meat. Got it.”
“Funny.”
“I do have my moments,” answered Bill, trundling off toward the shop.
Jimmy watched Bill go and felt his shirt pocket for his cell phone. He walked to the front of the truck and leaned against the hood. The midday sun had warmed it until it was hot to the touch. A bank thermometer announced the temperature at eighty-three. Jimmy punched in his home telephone number and listened as it continued to ring on the other end. He disconnected as soon as the answering machine picked up. His heart sank. He then tried Paula’s cell phone. She answered on the fifth ring.
“Hello?”
“Hey baby, we just finished up in Saint Cloud. We’re pulling out now. Where are you? I tried the house phone…”
For a long while there was no reply from the other end. Jimmy closed his eyes and took a deep breath. For a moment he thought they’d been disconnected.
“I’m driving, Jimmy,” she said cryptically. “Driving. So much happened this morning. I don’t know what to think. I turned on the news when you left. I’m sorry I didn’t believe you. We’re in some serious shit. I took some money and went shopping and bought some stuff. Not much, but I didn’t know what else to do.”
“That’s okay, honey, that’s why I left it there for you. You’re driving? Where are you headed now, Paula? Are you headed back home? We’ll be back in an hour. I picked you up a bunch of stuff. I hope I got the right kinds. I know I got enough. The guy at the cash register looked at me like I was nuts.”
“I’m just driving, okay? I don’t know where I’m going. I don’t know what I’m doing. I’m just… I’m just driving. You scared me this morning, Jimmy. I’ve never seen you mad like that. You were out of control. Now, you want me to run away? I don’t know if I can do that. I’m just trying to figure things out.”
“I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to scare you. I don’t know. It’s just been a bad morning. The last thing I expected to see was that creep sitting at our table this morning. I guess I lost it. You know I’m not like that. You know that, right?”
“I know.”
“Okay, so you’ll meet me back at the trailer? Bill went to pick up some lunch. Do you want us to pick something up for you on our way back?”
No, I’m fine,” Paula said with a hitch in her voice, sniffling into the telephone.
“Are you coming home?” Jimmy asked, his eyes closed and teeth clenched.
“I don’t know. I’m still thinking about everything. If I’m not there when you get back, call me. Okay? I promise to have it figured out by then. I’m sorry, Jimmy. I just need a little time. I’ve got to go now. Call me?”
“Come home, Paula. Okay? Everything is going to be all right. You’ll see. I love you.”
“I love you, too,” she said quietly. I’ve got to go. Bye, Jimmy.”
“Paula?”
Jimmy waited for a second, but he knew that the line had gone dead. He closed his phone and dropped it into his pocket. He ran his hands down his face, feeling as if he’d been kicked. From across the lot he could see Bill making his way back to the truck, bag in hand. Jimmy turned away, feeling his eyes blur as one hot tear fell from the bridge of his nose. He was a jumble of emotions—angry, sad, confused, and frightened. He fought to regain his composure, squeezing his eyes shut and taking deep breaths. He looked up to the sky and then down to the bank sign which now read twelve noon on the button and a balmy, eighty-four degrees. When his eyes dropped further, he noticed that there was a commotion brewing in the bank parking lot.
“What the hell?” Jimmy said out loud.
There were angry shouts coming from the front of the bank, and it seemed that all of the car horns in the long line at the drive-through had begun to roar in unison. A police siren wailed in the distance. Jimmy watched as the blinds were pulled over the large windows from inside the bank.
“What’s going on?” asked Bill, slightly winded, having jogged the last hundred feet of the parking lot.
“I’m not sure,” said Jimmy. “I think there might be a run on the bank.”
The horns died away as people began to climb from their gridlocked vehicles. Jimmy watched as they raced to the front of the darkened bank. Jimmy grimaced as he watched a young man dressed in a business suit beat at one of the tall windows with a tire iron.
“Get in the truck, Bill.”
Jimmy’s cell phone began to ring. He quickly removed it from his pocket, nearly dropping it as he folded it open.
“Paula?” he shouted into the phone, still watching the scene unfold at the bank.
“No,” answered a familiar voice. “It’s me, Ken. Where are you at, Jimmy? Are you all right?”
“We’re okay here. I just finished up at the mall. There are a lot of people here; the mall’s packed. I’m just glad I don’t have to stop at the bank. It looks like it just closed.”
“Listen, Kid,” said Ken. “Get out of there and do it now. Do you hear me? Have you seen the news? Its bad, Kid, real bad. They just announced an emergency bank holiday. Things are really a mess out east. They’re rioting. Things aren’t much better in Minneapolis. The lid’s about to blow on this thing, and we have to get moving. Have you packed yet?”
“No, not yet,” answered Jimmy over the howl of police sirens.
”Well, get moving and grab what you can as fast as you can. We’re ready to go. We’re just waiting on you.”
“I’m on my way, I’ve just got to swing home first,” answered Jimmy, feeling yet another surge of adrenaline. He snapped his phone shut and stuffed it back into his shirt pocket. He jumped up into the cab of the Mack next to Bill, who was staring with wild-eyed amazement at the ruckus outside the bank. The police had arrived, but there were so many cars in the parking lot that they had to park on the street. One cruiser was joined by another, and the men inside looked as if they didn’t know what to do. They began to order people to clear the premises with the help of a loudspeaker from the relative safety of their squad cars. Jimmy didn’t wait around to see the rest. He exited the parking lot into the slow moving traffic of Division Street. Jimmy wondered about this; it was as if everyone had left work at once, and he supposed that maybe they had.
“That was crazy,” said Bill between bites of his sandwich, a glob of yellow mustard hanging from his chin. “Did you see that guy with the tire iron? That looked like fun. I always wanted to do something like that. He looked pretty pissed off.”
“Right,” replied Jimmy, reaching for the dial on the radio. He scanned the channels on the AM and found the news station WCCO out of Minneapolis. He turned up the volume and began to listen, holding his hand up to quiet Bill.
“And conditions out east have continued to deteriorate. New York Governor John Greenway has called for a state of emergency. Riots have broken out in all seven of the boroughs, while the George Washington Bridge remains blocked by the truck embargo. National Guard troops have taken up positions inside the city, and there are reports of looters being shot. Wall Street has suspended trading for the day. In Washington, President Moore has called for emergency sessions in both the House and Senate to try and stop the bleeding in the banking crisis.”
Jimmy had heard enough. He turned the radio off as two State Patrol cruisers roared past in the bright sunshine. He lit up a Camel and cracked his window a few inches, the warm air hissing inside as it invaded the cab. Bill had returned his attention to his lunch and attacked his food like a hungry bear. Jimmy wondered about Bill and what he’d do after he and Paula left for the Dahlgrens’. If Paula even decided to go, he thought bitterly. At least she had options, unlike Bill who had no one and would have to ride this out from inside his trailer. He felt sorry for him and wished there was something he could do. Bill did have his good points. He had a good heart and was always there if you needed him. Still, the bottom line was that Ken Dahlgren had offered refuge to Paula and him. He couldn’t just bring Bill along like a stray dog. Besides, Bill had a knack for getting under your skin. He’d drive everyone crazy in less than a week.
“Look!” exclaimed Bill in a shrill voice, pointing out the windshield with his soda bottle. “It’s gone up again!”
Jimmy’s heart felt as if it’d skipped a beat. He braked hard, expecting to run head-on into a school bus, or worse. He quickly checked his mirrors and exhaled loudly. His eyes finally followed Bill’s pointing finger to the sign above the highway. He blinked hard, unable to believe what his eyes were telling him. Twenty dollars a gallon! The price of fuel had doubled in the two hours they’d been in town. On a large sheet of cardboard was a hand painted sign, which read simply: CASH ONLY! Jimmy swallowed hard and signaled his turn. He hated the thought of paying so much for fuel, yet it was now or maybe never. He stubbed out his cigarette and turned the Mack onto the service road. There was a long line of cars waiting at the gas pumps, the drivers gripping their steering wheels tightly while waiting their turn. Jimmy passed the cars and headed to the diesel pumps, which thankfully were open on his side. A huge John Deere tractor occupied the pump on the other side. An old man dressed in blue work clothes and muddy rubber boots stood pumping fuel into the gleaming green and yellow tractor. Jimmy set the brakes and shut off the engine.
“I’ve got to use the bathroom,” Bill said.
“Have at it,” replied Jimmy. “I’m going to top off here. I don’t want to risk driving into Crown to find out that the Co-Op is out of fuel. You want anything?”
“I’m good, thanks. I’ll be right out.”
“Okay,” said Jimmy as he got out of the truck, closed the door, and was greeted by the strong aroma of diesel. He smiled and nodded to the old man at the side of the tractor.
“Crazy, ain’t it?” asked the stoop-shouldered, white haired farmer who looked to be well into his eighties.
Jimmy nodded, twisting the cap off the hundred gallon saddle tank and inserting the fuel nozzle. “We passed by here a couple of hours ago, and the price has doubled since then. Who knows? By this time tomorrow twenty bucks a gallon might be a bargain.”
The old man spat tobacco and rubbed spittle off his chin. “By this time tomorrow there ain’t gonna be any fuel. I got that straight from the horse’s mouth. Lonnie Briggs, the fella that runs this store, told me so himself. He said the last tanker came through this morning, and the driver told him that the refinery’s shuttin’ down today. Just like everything else.”
“No kidding?” asked Jimmy, glancing at the farmer’s weathered hands.
“Yup, we’re headed down a tough road, son, a damn tough road. My family and me, we’re luckier than most. I saw this coming over a year ago. I got most of my kids and grandkids up at the farm, all except that damn fool daughter of mine in California,” he said, shaking his head sadly. “Yup, we’ve been putting up food for the past year. I’ve got over a hundred head of beef, and my barn’s full of hay. I’m ready for whatever comes. Looks like whatever it is, it’s here now.”
“I can’t argue that,” said Jimmy.
The farmer finished topping off the big tank on his tractor and replaced the nozzle on the hook of the pump. He nodded to Jimmy and ambled his way inside the crowded station. Jimmy returned his attention to his own humming fuel pump, shocked that it already read over six hundred dollars. He knew that he had about a thousand left in the envelope, but he hadn’t planned on spending it all on fuel. Thankfully, it clicked off at just under seven hundred dollars. Jimmy shook his head and walked toward the station. Halfway there he stopped, turned around and returned to the Mack to retrieve the keys and lock the door. Yesterday, he never would’ve thought of such a thing.
He loaded up on chewing gum, buying an entire display box and half a box of candy bars. He noticed that others were doing the same and that many of the shelves were already bare. After standing in line for nearly ten minutes, Jimmy was finally able to pay for his fuel and purchases. The old gal at the counter stuffed the cash into the drop safe. She thanked him politely without looking up, not bothering to offer to bag his purchases. Jimmy felt for her, wondering if she was as worried as everyone else. If she was, she certainly wasn’t letting on.
Jimmy squinted in the bright sunshine, wishing like hell that his sunglasses weren’t broken. He could see Bill was standing next to the John Deere, giving the farmer an earful. He shook his head and smiled.
“C’mon, Bill, we’ve got to put it in the wind!” Jimmy shouted, waving his arm in a wide arc. “Let’s go!”
Bill nodded, still talking as he did so, unable to stop without finishing what he’d started. Jimmy rolled his eyes and noticed a battered cargo van ease out of the lineup at the pump, giving up its place in line. The void was quickly filled by the Chevy behind it. The van looped around and headed over to the diesel pumps, the driver apparently unaware that there were no gasoline pumps at this island.
“Come on, Bill. Let’s get the show on the road!”
“I’ll be right there, Jimmy. Go on and get in!”
Jimmy shook his head and unlocked the driver door. He hopped up into the warm truck, reached across the cab and snapped the passenger door lock open. He inserted the key into the ignition and started up the Mack, the engine catching instantly with a quick puff of blue smoke. A moment later, Bill was hopping up into the cab, slamming the door shut behind him.
“Nice guy,” Bill said. “Did he tell you that he’s got his whole family living with him at his farm? Could you imagine that—only one bathroom? That’s what he said: twenty-three people and only one bathroom. That’s crazy, man. Crazy.”
Jimmy nodded, noticing that the van had stopped in front of the Mack. Two men had stepped out and were approaching both sides of the truck. One wore a white shirt and had a cowboy hat angled low over his eyes. He was tall and broad in the shoulders and was rapidly approaching Jimmy’s side of the truck. The other was short and thin and wore a dirty flannel shirt with the sleeves cut off, exposing black tattoos on thin, rust-colored arms. The way he looked back and forth in the parking lot gave Jimmy a bad feeling. He quickly reached for the button to the air brakes, but was too late. The one in the cowboy hat had already jumped up on the fuel tank. In one hand he held the chrome mirror bracket and in the other was a pearl handled stiletto. He smiled at Jimmy as if the two were old friends.
“Hey,” he said in a deep, almost jovial voice. “I think we’ll be taking your truck. You don’t mind, do you?”
“Shit,” said Jimmy.
“Oh, no,” said Bill, as his door was pulled open by the other man who merely smiled, revealing half a dozen yellow teeth.
“So, get out before I cut off your nose,” said the big man, waving his knife in Jimmy’s face. “We don’t want any trouble. We just need your truck. That’s all.”
“Give it to them,” said Bill. “Just give it to them, Jimmy.”
Jimmy took a deep breath and sighed. They had the drop on him, and he wasn’t going to risk losing a nose to this serious-looking man. Bill was stepping downm and Jimmy nodded, holding his hands up as Cowboy Hat opened the door for him.
“What’s going on here?” asked a familiar voice from behind the truck. Jimmy immediately recognized it as the farmer’s.
“Nothing, old timer,” said Cowboy Hat dismissively. “Nothing that concerns you anyway. Why don’t you just make like a tree and leave?”
There was a distinct clacking sound and Jimmy’s heart soared. He’d heard it many times, and there was no other sound quite like it. It was the sound of a pump shotgun racking up a shell.